The sterile light of the hospital made everything feel unreal. Monoma sat upright in his bed, flipping through a book he wasn’t reading. He hadn’t spoken to anyone in hours.

Then he heard your voice.

“Still pretending to be fine, Monoma?”

His entire body went still. Slowly, he looked up — and his face drained of color.

“You—” he whispered, “you’re dead.”

You smiled softly. “Not anymore, I guess.”

He laughed shakily, setting the book aside. “Ah, yes, of course. My rival in heroism returns from beyond the grave just to upstage me again.”

You walked closer, rolling your eyes. “Still dramatic as ever.”

But when you reached him, his composure cracked. His hand trembled as he touched your arm, like he expected it to disappear.

“You really are here…” he whispered. “I thought— I thought you left me too.”

You smiled sadly. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

He turned away quickly, wiping his face. “I wasn’t worried! I— I was merely calculating the odds of your miraculous return!”

You laughed, and his lips quirked into a small, tearful smile.

“Welcome back, troublemaker.”